


Persuasion

by devilinthedetails



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Gen, M/M, Manipulation, Persuasion - Freeform, References to Sexual Exploitation of Minors, Sexual Exploitation of a Minor, abusive dynamics, magical compulsion, mental manipulation, power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 21:14:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15649068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: Roger tests his persuasive powers on his new squire.





	Persuasion

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for sexual abuse of a minor and for magical, mental, and emotional manipulation. This story depicts very unhealthy relationship dynamics so please proceed with caution.

Persuasion

Alex had only been Roger’s squire for three days—but the augurs in Carthak always insisted that three was an auspicious number for new ventures and Roger had never been inclined to argue with the augurs—yet Roger still judged that the time was ripe to test his persuasive powers, and, of course, how open the lad was to his influence. 

“Alex.” Roger, sipping a glass of wine on a sofa by a roaring fire in the marble hearth, drained it to have a pretext to beckon the boy, who bore a bottle of fine Tyran red, closer. Waving his squire toward him, he added in the soft velvet tone he reserved for seducing his prey into his grasping arms as the silver strands of a spider’s web lured insects to its creator, “More wine if you please.” 

“Yes, Your Grace.” Alex darted forward with a swift smoothness that would have been surprising if Roger hadn’t known that there wasn’t an ounce of clumsiness in young Tirragen. Pouring a steady stream of wine into Roger’s glass, he apologized with equal fluidity, “Forgive my inattention.” 

“I’d just finished.” Roger gestured for Alex to stop replenishing his wine and continued the motion to cup Alex’s cheek in the compelling curve of his palm. “You’re very attentive, I assure you, and biddable. That’s what I appreciate most about you. How compliant, malleable, and eager to be shaped by my instruction you are.” 

“Your Grace is an excellent mentor and very persuasive.” The bottle in Alex’s hand quivered, and Roger could imagine the resolve it required for his squire to maintain an unshaken, inscrutable face. That aroused in Roger the desire to rattle him to his calm core. 

“I’ll show you how persuasive I can be.” Roger felt lust ignite and burn in him like the logs in the flames beside him, and he toyed with his gemstone necklace as he did with the boy before him. 

Young Tirragen’s focus fixed on the jewel shimmering in the firelight as Roger had predicted because men were always attracted to anything shiny. “Put down the wine,” Roger spoke—warm as milk but secure as a king in his authority—when he believed he had the boy entranced and bound to obedience. 

“Yes, Your Grace.” Alex’s voice was dreamy, and his eyes were blank, dark stones as he settled the bottle on a nearby, well-polished by servants mahogany table. 

“Come here, lad.” Roger curled his finger, summoning Alex to him with words and spell. 

“At once, Your Grace.” As he approached, narrowing to nothing the distance between them, Alex’s gaze was no longer merely glazed—it was was possessed by an almost manic, unwitting determination to accomplish whatever Roger had ordered, to be a perfect extension of Roger’s will. In this state, he would cut off his own sword arm if Roger bade it—he truly was marvelously biddable and the power Roger wielded over him when he was bewitched by the jewel was more intoxicating than the rich Tyran red wine—but Roger would never command such a mutilation of the mighty swordsman who would be his to manipulate and mold like moist clay. 

“You’re my strong sword, aren’t you?” Roger squeezed Alex’s shoulders, admiring the muscle concealed beneath the slenderness. “You would fight any enemy on my behalf and destroy any man who dared threaten me, wouldn’t you?” 

“Of course, Your Grace.” Alex’s gaze was riveted on the necklace around Roger’s throat, and Roger would have forced it onto him if he wasn’t wary of shattering the enchantment that kept Alex captive to his will.

“Pledge your loyalty to me not with hollow words but decisive deeds.” Roger’s questing fingers began to explore the rugged terrain of Alex’s collarbone. He savored the sheen the flickering firelight cast over the young man’s tawny skin, and excitement—the thrill of the hunt when the helpless animal was driven to the ground—pounded like horse hooves in his veins. He hadn’t groped a boy like this since he had departed Carthak, where the emperor had graciously provided slaves for his pleasure in exchange for his magical work and research. Of all the exotic splendors he had left behind in Carthak, he missed the boy slaves the most. When he took the throne, he would reinstate slavery in Tortall just to have boy pleasure slaves again. “Pledge your loyalty to me with a kiss.” 

Before it could occur to a dazed Alex that the ring he should have been expected to kiss was tracing his collarbone, Roger pressed his lips against his squire’s. The mouth beneath his was pursed in a baffled pucker but surrendered to his onslaught with a meek moan. He kissed with a fervor that bordered on the brutal until Alex’s lips risked bruising. Not wanting to leave any marks that might spur Alex to recall more of this encounter than just his vow, he released his squire. 

“You’ll remember nothing except your oaths to me and never discuss any of with anybody who isn’t me.” Roger twisted the gemstone as he did the same to the lad’s mind. 

“Yes, Your Grace.” Alex still sounded breathless from the kiss, and Roger smirked. 

“Then go pick up the wine and return it to storage, squire.” With a sharp swat on the boy’s buttocks—which were firm but yielding beneath his palm—he propelled Alex away from him. When a stunned Alex had gathered the bottle from the table, Roger removed the spell and smiled inside to see young Tirragen’s forehead furrow as he rubbed at his lips and backside, plainly unable to piece together the puzzle of why both were tender. As he watched the lad leave with a bow, it pleased Roger to reflect that his squire would have no recollection of Roger’s assault but had proven himself easy to bind to his knightmaster’s persuasion and power. Power was a far headier draft the wine and even more addictive.


End file.
